


You're Not Alone

by mggislife2789



Category: Criminal Minds, Spencer Reid - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Overdose, Reader-Insert, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-28
Updated: 2017-02-28
Packaged: 2018-09-27 12:22:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10020617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mggislife2789/pseuds/mggislife2789
Summary: Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters or their original stories. This is only for fun. It's where my brain goes after the credits roll. No copyright intended. Better safe than sorry ;)





	

“Y/N?” Spencer called out when he entered her apartment. “Are you home?”

It was eerily quiet inside the small apartment. She said she’d be home. Something was definitely wrong. “Y/N?” he asked again, hoping he just hadn’t said it loud enough the first time. Still nothing.

As he glided through the apartment like a ghost, he hoped she was just asleep. She’d been through too much lately; she needed rest. When he opened the bedroom door, he saw nothing. Just the sheets on the bed in disarray, like she’d thrown them off her in a hurry for some unknown reason. She wasn’t in the kitchen. She wasn’t sleeping on the couch. And her bed was empty. Finally, he approached the bathroom. Maybe she was taking a bath. She deserved it.

Like a bad dream, Spencer opened the door by degrees to find Y/N sprawled out on the floor, a wine glass loosely dangling in her hand with just the slightest bit of alcohol left. Her lips were faintly blue. “Y/N,” he breathed, kneeling on the floor at her side as he bent over to see if she was breathing. It was shallow. As he placed his fingers to her neck, her pulse was barely there. “Y/N, wake up,” he said desperately, shaking her slightly to see if she would wake. 

With tears in his eyes, he looked up in a panic, searching his pockets for his phone so he could call 911. Out of the corner of his eye was a piece of paper that simply read:

I’m so sorry, Spencer. This isn’t your fault, I just can’t take this feeling anymore. I love you so much. Y/N  
“No,” he breathed, pressing a kiss to her lips as the 911 operator answered his call. “Yes, this is Dr. Spencer Reid, I have an overdose on what looks like sleeping pills at 857 Roland Drive Apartment C. It’s my girlfriend. She’s still breathing, but it’s shallow. Please send help. Don’t let her die,” he cracked. The phone dropped to his side as the operator assured him that help was on the way.

“Please, Y/N,” he said, hoping that somewhere deep down she might be able to hear him. “I love you so much. We can get through this. You’re not alone.” 

By the time the ambulance arrived, her pulse was thready and her skin was taking on a pallor that was exacerbated by the ever deepening blue color of her lips. “Please, help her,” he begged, reaching out in vain for her as they took her down the stairs on a stretcher. There wasn’t enough room in the ambulance. He had to follow behind.

“I’m coming.”

—–

The doctors told Spencer that if he had arrived five minutes later, Y/N would’ve absolutely died. He’d found her just in time for her to have her stomach pumped. Now, he was sitting at her bedside, his hand on top of hers, wondering if she’d ever wake up. Having her stomach pumped wasn’t a guarantee that everything would be okay. She’d been minutes from death.

As the cool lengths of her fingers twitched to life, he looked up. She was awake. “Where am I?” she croaked. 

“You’re at the hospital. It’s me,” he replied. “I’m so glad you’re alive.”

“I’m so sorry, Spence.” Her lip started to quiver as she realized what had actually happened. He boyfriend, basically the one reason she hadn’t attempted suicide before, had found her half dead on the floor of her apartment. “The last thing I wanted to do was hurt you. Everyone’s better off without me, I just wanted to…”

“You’re not alone,” he whispered, pulling the hand with the IV attached toward him. “Just focus on getting better. I’ll be here every step of the way.”

As he kissed her hand, she started to cry. “You’re so much more than I deserve, Spence.”

“I’m not. I love you,” he said, getting up from the chair and kissing her on the forehead. “Get some sleep. I’m going to be right outside talking to your doctor.”

—–

Spencer knew that between 15 and 25 percent of those who attempted suicide would reattempt. More than anything, he wanted her to not be a part of that statistic. As he walked outside, he made sure to keep an eye on her. If she wasn’t asleep, an immediate reattempt was more than possible - it was probable. “Where do we go from here?” he asked her doctor.

“Well as you probably know, suicide attempts are likely to be repeated if nothing changes in their day-to-day lifestyle. Do you know what drove the attempt?” she wondered.

Spencer told her of the last few months in Y/N’s life. She had suffered from anxiety and depression for a large portion of her teenage years, but through therapy and medication, she was doing well until a few months ago. Within three months, her mother died of breast cancer and her childhood best friend died in a car accident that she was also in - she came out with no more than a couple of scratches and a sprained wrist. “Then I think you as well as I do that she needs to return to therapy and be put on medication again. What worked well for her when she was a teenager?”

“Fluoxetine,” he replied. “She felt great with that. 20 mg. Would she need an increase considering the circumstances now?”

She probably would. After speaking with her to find out her current state of mind, they would undoubtedly double the dose. “Is there someone that will be able to be there for her every day? Because if not, it might be best to keep her here for treatment for the time being. A week at most,” she clarified, when Spencer looked apprehensive.

He would do whatever was necessary to make sure she got better. It didn’t matter what he had to do, it was worth it. “When it comes to keeping her here, her father has proxy in the event she can’t make her own decision. However, if she can, and she insists on going home, I will take a leave of absence to take care of her.”

The young doctor smiled, placing her hand on his arm in a soft gesture of assurance and comfort. “With a supportive father and boyfriend behind her, she is better off than most. I’m going to go talk to her now.”

—–

“Y/N,” the doctor whispered, nudging her slightly. 

When she opened her eyes, she saw Spencer standing outside the door with a reassuring smile. “It’s going to be okay,” he mouthed. 

“I’m Doctor Garner,” she said. “How are you feeling?”

“Physically or mentally?”

“Let’s start with physical, then mental.”

She felt like she had been hit by a truck, which was normal. Y/N was unbelievably tired. “Mentally though. I don’t even know. I shouldn’t be alive,” she cried. “My boyfriend shouldn’t have to deal with this. Neither should my father. They’d be better off without me.”

“You only think that way because there is an imbalance in your brain chemistry. Your boyfriend said you’ve been on medication before, and it’s helped?” It had helped before, but things were so much worse now. Her mother and childhood friend were gone within three months of each other. How was she supposed to deal with that?

“One of the most important questions I need to ask is,” she said, “do you agree that you need treatment?”

“Yes,” she sobbed. “I don’t really want to die. I just don’t know what to do.” As the sob ripped through her, Spencer ran inside the room to sit by her side and hold her hand. 

“This should be a doctor/patient conversation, Dr. Reid,” she said, as Y/N started to calm down.

“No, please,” Y/N pleaded, refusing to let go of his hand when Spencer got up to leave them again. “Whatever you need to say can be said in front of him.”

“Okay,” she said, flashing a brief smile in Spencer’s direction. “In my professional opinion, you would be best helped here for a short period of time. However, if you insist on going home and doing outpatient treatment, your boyfriend here has said that he would take a leave of absence to be with you every step of the way.”

Once she looked in his direction, Y/N started to cry again. “I’ll stay here,” she said, turning toward Spencer. “I want to go home, but you shouldn’t have to take care of my every need for months on end.”

“I’m going to be here anyway,” he said. “I called Hotch and told him that whether or not you stayed here, I would be limiting my work to the office for the next few months. I will be here whenever you need me.”

After signing a few papers to have herself committed, Y/N was transferred to inpatient treatment. “I’m sorry, Spence,” she said for the fiftieth time that day. 

“It’s okay,” he replied, kissing her hands. “I’ll see you soon.”

—–

After a week of intensive therapy inside the hospital, during which time Spencer never left her side, Y/N was free to return home - her suicidal ideations had lessened over the week and unless she was an immediate risk to herself, they could keep her no longer. As promised, Spencer took off for the next month and a half to be by her side as she attended daily therapy.

Within those six weeks, Y/N started to feel better. Her guilt over living through the car accident when her friend didn’t lessened, as did her overwhelming sadness at the loss of her mother. Today, was the first day that Spencer would be returning to work in a limited capacity. 

“Are you sure you’re okay with me going in today?” he asked, leaning down to press a kiss to her lips before he left. It felt simultaneously like yesterday and five years ago that those lips were blue with death, instead of warm and pink like they were now. “I can stay home for a little while longer if you want me too.”

“Spence, I’m okay,” she said. it was the first time in nearly six months that she actually did feel okay. “If I feel anything bad at all, I’ll call you. I promise.”

“Okay,” he said, taking her lips in his one final time before leaving. “I love you so much. I’ll see you tonight.”

“I love you too, Spence. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to thank you enough. You saved my life in every way.”

As he turned to leave the apartment, he looked back one more time to make sure she was okay with him leaving. Instead of the sadness he’d seen in her eyes for so many months, he was greeted with a content and hopeful smile. He was still worried - he probably would be for months and years to come, but for the first time since her failed suicide, he had hope - hope that he would see her beautiful face still full of life when he came home.


End file.
